Getting Ready

Here it is.  One week away.  Plus a day, but who's counting?  (Un, deax, trois...)

I haven't been overseas in fifteen years.  The last time was to Turkey, on my honeymoon, where love and minerets filled the air.  

Before that, Rome, where Rob and I tried to find a church that would let us plan a wedding, and where Italian red tape was more plentiful than its pasta.

Before that was Egypt, pre-Rob, where my mother was offered one hundred live camels in exchange for my hand in marriage.  Post-Rob, I'm happy that she declined. 

Now I travel alone, my husband of a decade and a half heroically staying behind with our four children and our active business.

Well, alone only in the sense that I don't know who my seatmate will be for the ten hour flight from Houston, whether he/she will be old/young/friendly/smelly/loquacious/obnoxious/compatible.  It's funny to think that you can spend half a day trapped within an inch of a total stranger, and what you can learn by surrepticious observation.  I'll keep you posted.  Perhaps the gods of Publishing will see fit to seat me next to a hungry Random House editor who thinks that my novel has the potential to be not only a best-seller, but a box office blockbuster.  Perhaps it will be a guy with questionable dental practices who wants to show me his award-winning toenail collection.  Oh, the mystery!

Regardless, I will already miss Rob, who starts every flight (and every day) with a Rosary, who makes me feel safe.  And Vincent, who would immediately ignore the dictate to place the tray table in an upright and locked position.  And the girls, who would have packed books and iPods and Nooks and whom I wouldn't hear a sound from except "Is it ok if we ask the flight attendant for a Coke?"

Once we have spanned the width of the vast Atlantic Ocean and started our descent over vineyards and chateaux, I will land, hopefully without turbulence, in Paris.  The most desirable city in the world.  And, on the other side of customs, my sister will be waiting for me.

This time in Paris is but a speck in the latter half of the year that will take her to four or five continents in a quest to shake the dust off of a dozen years as a New Yorker and discover who she is at 30.  She will have arrived a week before me, refreshed by the park air of Parisian gardens, plump from daily croissants.  I will give her the gift to which I have allotted precious space in the suitcase, but no spoilers.  You'll have to check back in.

But, I get ahead of myself.  I need to vacuum seal a few more meals in the freezer, although Rob has told me not to go to the trouble.  Still, I want to leave my family with  homecooked food, and already I have stockpiled spaghetti sauce, lentil chili, tomato soup with tortellini, spinach hummus, and mint chocolate chip cookies.  I need to print my flight schedule so that they can use an app to calculate my altitude, distance, speed.  Although, they will all be deep in sleep when I land, seven hours behind. 

I do not need to pack.  That has been done for three weeks already.  Lest  you think I'm crazy, I am used to packing so far an advance with six people to plan for. I have created an excel sheet that lists the names horizontally and the items vertically, using the grid to mark things off as they go in to the suitcase.  I have not forgotten one item since using this system.  Out of habit, the bags came out of the garage at the mere mention of a trip.  My clothes may be impossibly wrinkled after so long in patient storage, but I will be confident that everything I need has accompanied me.  I am proud of the fact that I am a light enough packer to go carry-on.  I cannot say the same for the return trip, laden as I hope to be with gifts and memories.  But, I have included a fold-up duffle for that contingency.

The most important accessory, undoubtly, is the right shoe.  And, after months of searching for the perfect pair that would be stylish yet comfortable, I found it at a store in New York, and bought it in two colors.  Already, I have worn them silly for work, and they have proven to be worth every penny.  I learned from Rob that good shoes are worth spending good money on.  Girls, pay attention!  Grab the man who will support your shoe habit and never, ever let go.

So, pack your virtual suitcase, send me off on a wing and a prayer, and join me as my sister and I take the City of Lights by storm!  (Which, by the way, I have packed a raincoat for.)